*...* is normal thought,
//...// is Schuldig 'speaking' to Ken...this way you can tell the difference, ne? ^_^
~silvershadeus~
feedback, onegai! ^_^
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Weiß Kreuz related that would result in my
being sued...I'm just borrowing the characters and such for a little while.
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SNAFU* - Part 1
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It had been a highly unusual mission from the very beginning. And now two
of their numbers were missing, possibly dead.
Running a hand through his hair to hide his
uneasiness, Kudou Yohji took a deep drag off the cigarette clenched between his
teeth, eyes darting to the slim redhead in front of him.
They stood in the front of the locked and shuttered flower shop, bathed
in shadows…and guilt. Aya, most of all, his shoulders slumped, slender figure
radiating a crushing sense of defeat.
Yohji's green eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he took another drag off
the cigarette, the end flaring brightly for an instant. Neither of them could
quite pinpoint the moment the mission had gone to hell, but one thing was for
damned sure – they were going to find out.
Or die trying. Yohji thought wryly, a hint of bitterness tingeing
the thought.
One elegantly sculpted hand rose to remove the burning cigarette butt
before dropping it to the floor, booted heel crushing it. Yohji shifted so that
he stood sideways to the redhead, watching him from the corner of his eyes.
For his part, Aya appeared oblivious to the older assassin.
And then Yohji heard it, a low angry hiss. No more than an exhalation,
but the sound filled him with apprehension. Lifting his head, he turned to look
at his leader, eyes widening as the younger man's arm flashed out, fist
slamming into the wall. Once, twice, three times…
Yohji was moving, fear and worry making him
clumsy, but somehow he managed to catch the cut and bleeding hand before Aya
could land a fourth blow. Interposing his body between the wall and the redhead,
Yohji smirked to himself as he caught the abortive move the smaller man made
with his other arm.
No matter his anger, his rage, Yohji knew that
deep down Fujimiya Aya would never hurt someone he trusted. Someone he called
friend, even if it was only to himself.
Realizing that he still gripped Aya's injured
fist in his own hand, Yohji loosened his hold, his hand sliding down to give
Aya's wrist a reassuring squeeze before letting go completely. If Aya was
surprised by the gesture, he didn't show it.
Meeting the other's cold eyes, Yohji felt a
sharp pang in his chest. He knew the guilt the other was feeling – he'd felt
it himself all too many times. But now…now was not the time for guilt.
That could come later, if there was a later.
"Aya, we need to go over what happened tonight. We need to figure out
what went wrong."
Something flickered in the depths of that icy violet gaze, and then just
like that – the spark that was Fujimiya Aya winked out, to be replaced by the
merciless killer.
"I fucked up, Yohji. I fucked up and they
died because of it. I killed them."
Yohji was so startled by the self-hatred and disgust he heard in Aya's
voice that the other was able to walk past the shop counter before the movement
even registered in his mind.
When it did, Yohji knew with certainty that the
moment the redhead walked out of the door to the flower shop that none of them
would ever see him again. Whether he simply disappeared or managed to get
himself killed in some desperate bid for revenge, Aya would remove himself from
their lives forever. It was this knowledge, more than anything, that spurred
Yohji into taking a reckless action he would never have even considered
under normal circumstances.
"K'so. Aya you bastard." He muttered
under his breath, but he was already moving, running the few steps between him
and the counter before vaulting up and over the obstacle, one hand touching down
briefly on the smooth surface for balance.
Yohji felt mightily impressed with himself as
he landed with effortless grace directly in Aya's path. Straightening to his
full height, Yohji spread his arms out to either side of himself, effectively
barring the smaller man's way, his body forming the shape of a perfect cross.
Violet eyes narrowed to slits, and Aya growled low in his throat, his
hand dropping to the hilt of his katana. The soft whisper of steel on leather
filled the shop as Aya drew the blade, but did not fully unsheathe it.
"Get out of my way, Kudou."
Yohji winced inwardly. It had been a long time since Aya had called him
by his last name, and it was almost like a physical blow.
"Like hell I will." He replied, not even batting an eye as Aya drew
his weapon fully and placed the point of the blade at the hollow of his throat,
the cold metal chilling his skin.
"Move."
Green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Had there been the slightest of tremors
in the other's voice just now, or was it merely wishful thinking on his part?
Knowing he had no other choice, Yohji took a step forward, forcing Aya to
either impale him with his katana, or step back.
He did neither, his wrist twisting, the blade
flashing sliver in the space between them before he brought the blade to rest
along the side of Yohji's neck, the tip of the katana angled so that it
touched the older man's ear.
"I don't want to play one of your games, Kudou. Move." Emphasizing
his command with a tiny flick of his wrist, Aya's lips tightened as he nicked
Yohji's ear, blood flowing to soak into the honey and chestnut of the
other's hair.
Yohji's eyes flew wide in surprise before narrowing to slits,
unconsciously mirroring the slender redhead's glare.
"This. Isn't. A. Game." He gritted between clenched teeth, still
not backing down.
Aya snorted in derision, and it looked for a moment as though he was
going to say something, when Yohji's fist crashed into his face. The impact of
the blow snapped the smaller man's head back violently, and he was sent
stumbling backwards. The katana clattered to the floor.
Shaking his head, Aya wiped at the line of blood on his chin, death in
his violet eyes. Massaging his aching knuckles, Yohji returned his glare with
equal force.
"Goddammit, Aya! That fucking hurt!"
Aya blinked at Yohji in surprise.
Wasn't that supposed to be his line?
Before he could say anything, Yohji had taken an angry step forward, one
hand tangling in the front of his shirt. Pulling the smaller man towards him
until their faces were inches apart, Yohji's eyes narrowed.
"Listen to me Fujimiya, and listen good. We are not going to
give up on Ken and Omi, and we are not going to let Schwarz rip us apart.
Do you understand me?"
A scornful look crossed Aya's face, causing Yohji to give him a violent
shake.
"We are not giving up on them!"
Startled by the ferocity in the older man's voice, Aya did something
unforgivable. He let his mask slip, and Yohji saw the fear and uncertainty
behind it.
Giving Aya another shake – this one gentler
than the first – Yohji repeated his words with fierce determination.
"We are not giving upon them, Aya. I promise you."
"They're probably already dead."
Green eyes widened imperceptibly at the underlying pain in Aya's voice.
And Yohji suddenly understood. He was learning how Aya worked, little by little
each day, and he understood this.
"So that's it, then? You're just going to
count them off as casualties? Just like that, without even bothering to try
looking for them? You said it yourself, Aya - 'probably.' Hell, you know those two are harder to
kill off than a fucking cockroach. Are you going to give up on them so
easily?"
There must have been something in Yohji's voice that reached past the
icy walls of Aya's heart, because when he looked up to meet Yohji's eyes,
the other saw a spark of determination in them.
"No."
Yohji jerked Aya closer, green eyes staring hard into violet for a long
moment, searching for something.
"Are you going to hit me or kiss me,
Yohji?"
Startled green met amused violet, and Yohji found he was unable to hide
his smile.
"Maybe another time, Aya. We've got business to take care of."
*************************
The first coherent though that surfaced in his mind was that he was wet.
Soaking wet, and freezing, in fact. The second coherent thought was that his
entire body felt like one huge bruise.
So then, he was one huge, soaking wet bruise that was freezing cold.
Filing away that helpful tidbit of information for future use, he forced
one eye open, grimacing as he was met with nothing but darkness. Darkness and
the god-awful stench of rot and decay.
Sighing to himself, he rolled onto his side, hoping to gain the rest of
his senses soon. His ears felt stuffed with something infinitely more soundproof
than cotton, and the lack of noise was unnerving.
Realizing that since he'd made it this far he might as well sit up, he
levered himself up on one arm, his head hanging on his chest. The aching throb
in his skull was still too strong for him to be able to move his head about
freely. Slowly, he raised his head, opening his second eye to squint into the
blackness.
He sat that way, weight braced on one trembling arm, waiting for his eyes
to adjust to the acute lack of light. His breathing was labored and shallow, and
something rattled in his chest with each breath he took.
Gradually he was able to make out a crumpled form barely two feet from
him, arms outstretched towards him. In the darkness he couldn't tell if the
figure's chest rose and fell with in the familiar rhythm of breath or not.
Fear flared through him, almost painful in its intensity.
No.
The word repeated itself in his mind until it ran together, a desperate
mantra for an exercise in futility as he struggled to drag his wounded body the
few feet separating them, and failed. His own body was far too battered and weak
to support him even that small distance.
Cursing his body's weakness, he collapsed, his chin striking the hard
stone floor with a jarring impact. Lances of bright white pain speared through
his head, and he cried out softly. Tears leaked from eyes that were tightly
shut, wetting the fine lashes, and trailing down one smooth cheek.
//Don't weep for him, Weiß, he'll live.//
He jerked backwards, seeking to avoid the invasive thoughts that were not
his own. Cold laughter filled his mind, and it was all he could do to keep from
uttering a cry of dismay.
//Che, keep on like that and you'll wind up
killing yourself, Weiß.//
He froze, startled at the disgust, heavy in the voice that pervaded his
mind.
Why do you care? He thought back, unsure if his words would be
heard, and not quite certain he wanted them to be.
He winced as the laughter sounded once again in his head, a small frown
creasing his forehead. The voice seemed to be taking root in a back corner of
his mind.
//Ahhh, but there's so much unused space in here, why not? And why
shouldn't I care? We're roomies, after all…or did you forget?//
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Bwhahahahahahahahahaha! Erm, I mean TBC...
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*SNAFU is a term used by the military to mean: Situation Normal All Fouled Up
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